THE LETTER.
By
John Hall Wheelock.
The night is measureless, no voice, no cry Pierces the dark in which the planet swings— It is the shadow of her bulk that flings So deep a gloom on the enormous sky ; This timorous dust, this phantom that is I Cowers in shelter, while the evening brings A sense of mystery and how all things Waver like water and are gliding by. Now, while the stars in heaven like blowing sand Drift to their darkness, while oblivion Hushes the fire of some fading sun, I turn the page again—and there they stand, Traced by love’s fleeting but victorious hand, The words: "My darling, my beloved one. ’
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19310602.2.265.2
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Otago Witness, Issue 4029, 2 June 1931, Page 68
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113THE LETTER. Otago Witness, Issue 4029, 2 June 1931, Page 68
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